The Queen of Swords: A Paranormal Tale of Undying Love by Nina Mason Page B

his face.
    He blinked hard to clear the cobwebs from his mind. Her face hovered, so close he could not make out her features. Hair tickled his neck, his shirt lay open, and her hand rested atop his engorged member, a dangerous location. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat.
    “We should not be doing this.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because.”
    To his relief, she withdrew her hand.
    “Because why?”
    “Because I still blame myself for ruining Caitriona.” He could see her better now. “And suspect that might be the reason you keep coming back.”
    The dent between her eyebrows deepened. “ You mean to punish you?”
    “Aye. Why else?”
    “But I don’t feel the least bit like punishing you.” She pushed higher on her arms. “I only want to please you.”
    “ You’d change your tune if I took advantage and then abandoned you.”
    “Are you planning to abandon me?”
    His brow creased. “You know I am. Isn’t that why I’m still spellbound?”
    Without answering, she crawled off him and turned her back to him like an icehouse door.
    “Tell me.”
    Sitting up, he pushed back against the pillows, groped on the nightstand for her cigarettes, and put one in his mouth. “Tell you what?”
    “How you ruined Caitriona.”
    He flamed the lighter. “Why?”
    “Because I want to know.”
    He lit his cigarette and exhaled with a laugh. “So I should bare my soul, lay myself open, simply because you wish it?”
    “I thought you had no soul.”
    Her words sliced his heart, drawing blood. He smoked the cigarette like it was his enemy, crushed it in the ashtray, and lit another. “ Would you have any whisky? Or is a drink too much for a lowly prisoner to ask for?”
    “Fuck you, Papillion.”
    He assumed it a reference to convicted felon and fugitive Henri Charriere , the subject of the book and movie, not the dog breed or an actual butterfly.
    “ You can’t keep me spellbound forever, you know. And when you release me, I have no choice but to leave Wickenham. For both our sakes.”
    “Because of Fitzgerald. Not because you don’t care for me.”
    She stated rather than asked it, but he still felt compelled to confirm. “Yes.”
    “What if we could stop Fitzgerald?”
    He snorted his incredulity. “How do you suggest we do that?”
    “I don’t know yet.”
    Hope glimmered. “But you believe there’s a way?”
    “ You don’t?”
    He shrugged. To be frank, he’d never given it much thought. He’d been walking the tightrope for so long now, it seemed as much a part of him as the bloodlust.
    Rolling onto her back, she slipped him a sideways glance. “If I get some whisky, will you tell me what happened after you killed the maid?”
    He winced at the mention of the murder . The guilt and shame of it still haunted him. That was perhaps the worst part of his curse—having the raw instincts of a beast coupled with the conscience of a man. It wasn’t always possible to control his vile urges, but he would always regret the evils they drove him to commit.
    “ Aye.”
    “Good.”
    Climbing off the bed, she straightened her robe as she walked toward the door. She returned a few minutes later with a bottle of Glenfiddich and two low-ball glasses. She set the glasses on the nightstand beside him, filled one and took it with her back to her side of the bed. She then proceeded to prop herself against the headboard beside him, but with a foot or so of space between them.
    Doing his best to ignore her inhospitality, he poured his own whisky and took a generous gulp. Alcohol and nicotine took the edge off his cravings and he could use all the help he could get right now. As much as it galled him, her cold-shoulder also would aid his resistance.
    “Okay .” She tugged at her robe. To ensure she was well covered, presumably. “Ready when you are.”
    He offered her nothing as h e topped off his glass and lit another cigarette. If she insisted on treating him shabbily, he would repay her in kind.
     
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